


maybe this time

by strangesmallbard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fix-It, Pre-SQ, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangesmallbard/pseuds/strangesmallbard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Apologies don’t mean anything in the end, really.” Emma finally says. “I still screwed her over. It’s not going to change.” </p><p>Mary Margaret’s eyebrows furrow. “Oh Emma-”</p><p>“No I-” She swallows. “I fucked up, alright.” </p><p>(A group of oneshots concerning Emma and Regina looking for happy endings and finding them in each other. Really. Really slowly.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe this time

**Author's Note:**

> The attempts of a disgruntled fan to fix canon she doesn't even care about anymore. Except that's not true, because here I am. I really really care about these characters and the things they do. In this, I wanted to get into Regina's headspace in 3B, and also explore Emma as a character, keeping some things from canon and changing others. Like Captain Swan. In this, Captain Swan doesn't even happen at all. They're firmly friends. I'm still mourning the loss of their potential friendship, so it may appear in this series.
> 
> The titles of this fic and the series are from the song "Maybe This Time" from the show, Cabaret. It's basically Regina's theme song and especially for 3B. (maybe this time / for the first time / love won't hurry away) (everybody / they love a winner / so nobody loved me).
> 
> Please do leave me your thoughts if you're inclined to :)

Mary Margaret’s ideas range in terrible from “let’s try to do the town budgeting ourselves” to “let’s name my child after my other child’s dead ex” to but this might be the worst one yet. 

“I’m not apologizing to Regina.” Emma says. She’s holding baby Neal, and there’s nothing quite like holding a baby that’s not yours. All sweet-smelling tufts of hair and softness and tiny fingers curling and uncurling and none of the crippling _oh god, how am I going to form this tiny person when I’ve barely formed myself_. (Plus when he starts crying, she can hand him back.) 

“Emma.” Mary Margaret says with thin lips and her head cocked, like Emma is being a petulant fifteen year old. Annoyance curls in her stomach and Neal whimpers in her arms, and she wonders where Henry’s old stuffed bear went because that used to calm him down when he got agitated-

Oh. It doesn’t exist. Because New York City and the years of struggling to raise her son and the peace she finally had doesn’t exist. Maybe Regina had a similar bear for Henry. She should ask. When Regina will even _look_ at her again, that is.

Being ignored is somehow worse than being outwardly hated. At least with in-your-face hatred, there was _something_. There was eye contact. There was that _thing_ between them they never talked about before _New York City_ and how Regina held her hand like she absolutely mattered and gave her everything she ever wished for.

Then it was taken. Because she’s _the Savior_ , so that’s why she doesn’t get nice things. Kind of how like Regina’s _The Evil Queen,_ so she doesn’t get nice things. Same concept in the end, really. Destiny loving to fuck them over to fill some story book role that shouldn’t even exist, like magic shouldn’t exist. In the end, that’s why she couldn’t stay mad at Regina for New York.

They both got dealt the shitty hand.

Beyond the other things she should be mad at Regina for, but isn’t anymore, not actively, because they have a son and thinking about _Princess Emma_ in a castle and probably married at sixteen and _magic_ hurts her head, and other things matter more. Or maybe she’s still mad. But mad is wrapped up in other emotions. Emotions that can’t be simplified in one word. In the end, she’d rather have peace. One word. 

Neal only expects her to hold him, and that’s it, and right now, that’s as much as Emma can handle. 

“Apologies don’t mean anything in the end, really.” Emma finally says. “I still screwed her over. It’s not going to change.” 

Mary Margaret’s eyebrows furrow. “Oh Emma-”

“No I-” She swallows. “I fucked up, alright.” She stares at the baby, blue eyes, bright and shining. Tears well up before she can stop them. She never wanted to be part of the I-helped-ruin-Regina’s-life club. She’s glad Henry went back to Regina’s, even though his request to hurt and hurt. She has someone right now. A person to call home, like Emma has found hers. 

“You wanted to save Marian. That’s not wrong, Emma. You reunited a family. That’s not what I meant. ” The baby starts to cry, and that’s Emma’s cue to hand him over. Mary Margaret hushes him with all the gentleness one could expect from Snow White and inexplicably, Emma feels uncomfortable in her own skin. 

“I wanted to do the right thing.” She says, her arms limp and confused without the weight of the baby. She eventually draws her knees up and her arms around them. She leans her chin against her knees. _When Emma’s uncomfortable or scared, she’ll run, hide away, and curl up, sometimes for an hour or so and it’s best to leave her alone, but she’s really quite a sweetheart, I’m sure your family could benefit-_  

She catches Mary Margaret’s eye. “But I think you know best that sometimes…..sometimes the right thing to do has consequences. And sometimes we think it’s so _right_ , that we ignore the consequences.” 

Her eyes lower for a moment, her teeth worrying over her lip. She takes a few visible breaths and gives Emma a very pained smile. “Still, I think you should apologize. Because whatever’s right and whatever’s not, she’s angry at you right now and that’s never been good. For Henry, if nothing else.” 

 _For Henry._ For a lot of what they’ve fought for together and fought _against_ each other for, he was a valid reason. But for the rest, it’s felt like an excuse, a bridge, a known quantity of connection rather than whatever else is brewing. 

“Yeah.” She finally says. It comes out sour. Apologizing won’t do anything. Changing the past would do something. But Emma’s fucked with that enough to last several lifetimes. 

“Just don’t wait too long. Regina’s ability to hold grudges is-”

“I know.” Emma says quickly. “Still, we shouldn’t…….we shouldn’t _expect_ her-” 

“I know.” Mary Margaret repeats. They fall into another silence and Emma gently starts to gently unfurl her body, settles back into the couch and tries to absorb herself in it.

“And I was also going to say earlier, that though you _should_ apologize, make sure you know exactly what you’re apologizing for.”

Emma looks at her. Really looks at her. Tries to read the unwritten pages of a story in the lines of her face. 

Mary Margaret gives that pained smile again. “It took me over thirty years, Emma, to figure out that she wasn’t just angry with me because I caused Daniel’s death.”

“Why was she angry with you, then?” Emma asks before she can stop herself.

 “That’s her story to tell, sweetheart.”

Right _. Stories._ She breathes and breathes, and oh yes, that’s guilt coiling in her gut. 

* * *

 

Emma found herself at Regina’s house a few days later, because that conversation refused to leave her mind, and uses Henry as an excuse.

Deja vu coursed through her veins like adrenaline.

Henry was asleep though, and she deflated a little bit because of _course_ he’d be asleep, the kid used to monitor _her_ sleep schedule back in New York. Seeing him, his happy _hi mom!_ and too fast changing voice would have made the following conversation more bearable. 

Instead Regina opened the door and there’s a thousand things Emma wanted to say, needed to say, but they were caught up in her throat at the sight of her. She was breathing deeply, nostrils flaring, and cheeks red like she’d run a marathon. Except she was drunk. Emma could tell by the full, heady smell of wine the moment the door opened. 

Her hair was mussed and she was barely wearing makeup. She was shaking a little bit, but she schooled her expression as neutrally as she could the moment she saw it was Emma. The hurt stayed in her eyes, however. It’s a deep, old hurt. Emma wanted to say _I’m sorry_ , and _I didn’t know,_ but the words are fucking sour and she knew that Regina’s probably heard them before. 

Regina talked first. She was angry, predictably. She tried to keep it even, controlled, but failed because they’ve always been chaos together. Emma argued back, because Regina will always know which buttons to push, like how a surgeon would know which jugular would make a person bleed out fastest.

(“Caring more about gallivanting off with that _pirate_ than _Henry_ -”)

(“Oh and what about _Robin_ -)

They made it to the parlor. They shut the door so they didn’t wake Henry. They argued for what felt like hours, in each other’s space, sharing breath almost and it feels like hours, but it’s probably minutes.

Regina breaks the spell by grabbing a half filled glass of wine and shattering it against the floor.

Emma flinches.

“I’m sorry.” Regina says. Too quietly. Her nostrils flare again and she grabs the second glass. She sits down in the armchair, stares at nothing in particular.

Emma sighs and leans down and carefully begins to pick up the pieces of glass. Regina watches for a few moments, blinks at her, and then joins her. She hisses as a piece of glass cuts into her finger. Emma grabs it without thinking. 

“Where’s your first aid kid, I’ll-”

“It’s a tiny cut, Ms. Swan. Hardly something to fret about.” She takes her hand away and grabs a tissue from the end table. Emma misses the weight of it. She opens her mouth and closes it. The words are blocked again. If that keeps happening they’ll just argue over motherhood and daughterhood and dead sisters and men and the who makes the best lasagna, anything but what they need to talk about.

“I’m…..” She swallows. “I’ll replace the glass.”

Regina quirks up an eyebrow. “I broke it.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have broken it if I wasn’t an asshole.”

Regina presses her lips together and sits down across from her, crossing her legs, always regal, no matter how drunk. “Do whatever you want, Emma. You always do, regardless of anything or _anyone_ else.”

Emma sucks in a breath and stands up. “You knew him for _two days_ , Regina! Two fucking days-”

“That wasn’t anything to do with…..that wasn’t what I-” Regina says, and then abruptly stops. She stares at the wall behind Emma’s head and breathes once, twice. She  props an elbow on the chair’s arm, runs a hand through her hair, leans her hand against her head. She laughs and it’s dry and sardonic. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Try me.” Because everything is a challenge. There’s a pause and Regina grabs another glass, begins to pour herself more wine. Emma watches and yeah, she could use a drink herself.  
  
“You dealt with time, Emma, and the only so far known consequence is that you reunited a family. In every book, you’re the hero. Live with it.”

“This isn’t a book.” Emma snaps. “This is _real_. No one’s a hero, no one’s a villain, people are just…….existing.”

“Oh how _philosophic_ of you,” she cocks her head in Emma’s direction and her lips quirk up, “ _really,_ tell me more about a barely educated bailbondsperson’s no doubt _inspiring_ view on life.” Good. She’s still absolutely terrible. Somehow that’s comforting.

“Explain to me why Robin reuniting with his wife has caused us to revert back to two years ago. Because I really didn’t enjoy two years ago.”

Regina snorts. “Hardly. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have even let you in my door.” 

“True.”

Regina sips her wine, slowly, and Emma rubs her thumb against the inside of her palm. That itching is back, the one that whispers _run_. She sighs and leans forward, positions her elbows on her knees. She doesn’t. She supposes that’s good.

“If you want a glass, feel free.” Regina drawls. “This one’s been sitting on a shelf for thirty years.” She stares at it, eyes the swirling, thick red. “It’s quite good.” She takes another sip and continues to stare at the wall.  

Emma doesn’t get up. She just stares and stares at Regina because there’s something she’s not understanding. About why any apology is so sour. About why Regina is angry and yet offering her wine, and an unease settles throughout her limbs.

“Regina-” 

“All my life I’ve been fighting destiny.” Regina begins, and she’s still not looking at Emma. “And since you’ve read the damn book, I assume you’ve gleaned it hasn’t been an easy fight.”

“Yeah, I definitely got that."

Regina purses her lips. “I won, in a way. Finally. My destiny is my own. No one can tell me who I am supposed to be but myself. No one can carve my path but me.” 

Emma blinks. “Good, that’s….good. That’s the way it should be.” She wants to say _me too_ , because destiny landed her pregnant and in jail and she had to carve her own future too, but she doesn’t.

There’s another pregnant, uncomfortable pause. 

“I’m not in love with Robin.” Regina says softly. She’s staring at her glass now, her lips twisted like the wine has gone sour.

For some reason, this causes Emma to let out a breath of relief. Because now she knows history won’t be repeating itself. This is something different, not some reused plot in this decades old story.

Emma begins, “Alright-”

“But I could have been.” Regina looks directly at her. “For once, for _once_ , destiny was going to _give_ me something, instead of taking away. Something good. Something I don’t….want to fight against. A happy ending.” She smiles, and it’s real and painful and beautiful. 

“But what if you never loved him?”

Regina chews on the inside of her cheek. “Well, we’ll never know now, will we?” 

“Regina, you….you know that’s still fucked up, right? That it still implies you don’t get a choice?”

She stands and her nostrils flare again. _Shit, shit shit._ “You don’t, you absolutely _do not_ , get to lecture me about choice. I _know_ I had a choice. I know I could have ignored that damn tattoo and gone on with my life as if he didn’t exist!” 

“The tattoo?-” 

“But for once, it was _destined-_ ” She spits the word. “That I would find true love again. That I would be happy.” She visibly deflates and sits again. She stares at her wine glass. “So I chose that.”

Oh. _Oh_. Fuck.

Regina licks her lips and laughs again. “Of _course_ , that didn’t work out. I’m not sure why I thought it would. There’s a reason I gave up on hoping….for things like that. It simply isn’t in my cards.” She drums her hand against her knee and takes another sip.

Emma stares at her hand, her long, tapered fingers and the dark red nails, the veins running down her wrist, and wants to take it, hold it like Regina held her hand that day at the town line. Tell her she absolutely matters.

“In the long run, I should have ignored it. Spared the ache, and focused on my son.” She turns to Emma. She smiles and it’s that real, beautiful one, but it doesn’t hurt this time. Her eyes are soft and crinkle at the edges. “I missed having him here.”

“He missed his room. And his comic books. And you.” She catches Regina’s eye again. “Even when he couldn’t remember, he used to say that something was missing. I never understood what he meant by that.”

Regina smiles again. Emma wants to keep making her smile. It’s making Emma smile too, like this entire night hasn’t been for nothing if they’re smiling together.

“But Regina….if you want to you know, get out there in the dating world,” it doesn’t feel right using modern idioms, but oh well, “I say fuck destiny, and try anyway.” 

Regina laughs and  it’s round and lovely. She takes another sip of wine. “Fuck destiny.” It occurs to Emma that she’s never heard Regina swear before. “That should be my campaign slogan when I next run for Mayor.” 

“It is straight to the point. None of that political bullcrap.” 

“I’m quite gifted at that so called 'political bullcrap.' Put _you_ in a debate and you’ll end up punching your opponent in the face.”

“Right. Because you _totally_ didn’t punch my mother in the face on the ship in Neverland.” Regina’s eyes gleam, like she’s reliving the memory. Which Emma also knows is bullcrap, because her mother and Regina are like….not friends, but talking. And sometimes holding hands. And it’s weird. It’s the absolute weirdest. And it’s nice. It’s nice that they’re not trying to kill each other.

“And you’ve also punched me, I’m pretty sure.” 

“You probably deserved it.” 

 _“Hey-”_  

They’re bantering. Maybe no more wine glasses are going to be shattered. Emma’s not done hoping. Before she makes a wiser decision, she reaches out to gently, very gently take Regina’s hand. She doesn’t cup and hold it close. She barely holds her fingertips. But she feels something, some kind of _hum_ underneath her skin, and maybe it’s just magic, or maybe it’s that thing they have, but it makes Emma’s stomach warm when they look at each other.

“I mean it, though. There’s someone out there for you to _choose,_ really choose. No destiny interfering.”

She doesn’t understand the lump that grows again in her throat. Nor does she understand Regina looking at her with that incredulous expression, sadness crinkling the edges of her eyes, and how she doesn’t remove her hand from Emma’s this time.

Regina swallows and removes her hand. She gets up, slowly, and places her now empty glass down. She stands still for a moment, just looking up like the ceiling has answers to questions unasked. Emma freezes in place. 

“That’s just it, dear. Who in this realm or any other would choose _me_?” She begins to walk away and only turns her head to speak once more. “You know the way out, Emma.” 

“Henry chose you.” Emma calls after her.

“I chose him. He ran away to Boston to find you. But that’s-”

“He chose both of us.”

“Stop trying, Ms. Swan. You don’t have to be everyone’s Savior.” And god, Emma could cry. She could cry right now. She does have to be everyone’s Savior. That’s why she’s in Storybrooke and not in New York City, no matter where her true home lies.

“I’m a shitty Savior.”

“Perhaps. You’re discussing feelings with your arch nemesis.”

“You’re hardly my arch nemesis.”

“And you’re hardly my savior.”

They look at each other and Regina smiles again, a half smile, somewhat wistful, one Emma only remembers seeing a few times. It might be her favorite smile.

“Apology accepted.” She leaves the room. Her heels click against cold marble.

She wonders when she ever actually apologized. 

Or maybe Regina was really saying _Fuck destiny._

Either way, Emma leaves smiling too and feels the guilt uncoiling in her stomach rung by rung, replaced by something else. Something warm and calm and new.


End file.
